The King's Gambit(70)

Milo shrugged. “Well, you know where it is, don’t you?”

“The house of Publius Claudius, if it hasn’t been destroyed already. But there is no legal process for searching a citizen’s home.”

Milo stared at me as if at some rare new form of idiot. “Surely you don’t expect to go about this legally?”

“Well,” I began, tapering off uncertainly, “I suppose at this juncture that would be rather futile.”

He leaned forward. “Look, Decius, here in Rome we have some of the best burglars in the world. In fact, in some quarters there is resentment that this Asian boy is prowling all over Rome as if he had a perfect right here. I know some good lads. They’ll be in that house and toss it from top to bottom, get your amulet and be out by daylight, and nobody will know they were ever there.”

I was astonished. “They are that good?”

“The best,” he assured me. “The guild’s entrance standards are very high.”

I was horrified. I was also exhilarated. I, Decius Cae-cilius Metellus, was contemplating having the house of a citizen burglarized. The prospect of an early and obscure grave made that seem of less account than in better days.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s do it. Can they find something so small in that great house?”

He spoke as if to a small, naive boy. “The valuable things are always small. No burglar goes in through a window and comes out with a life-size bronze by Praxiteles. These lads know exactly where to look for small, valuable objects. They can steal the jewelry off a sleeping woman without waking her.”

“Send them,” I said. “Can they be back by morning? I have little time now.”

“If it’s still there and not at the bottom of the Tiber or cast into a new lamp, I’ll have it for you at first light.”

“Go,” I said.

When he was gone, I prepared papyrus and ink, and I tried to make out my will. It was appalling how little I had to leave to anybody. Technically, I couldn’t own property myself, since my father was still alive, but patria potestas was a legal fiction by that time. I made out manumission documents for Cato and Cassandra, and left them the house. I needed very little time to dispose of the rest of my belongings, dividing them among my clients. My field armor I left to Burrus. I knew that he had a son who was about to join his old legion. My farmer I left a small olive grove adjacent to his land. My other possessions I left to various friends. At least, I assumed they were still my friends.

I jerked awake. Sometime during the night, I had nodded off over my table. Someone had thrown a cloak over my shoulders. A dim light just outlined my window and I wondered what had awakened me. Then I heard the scratching at my front door.

I went to my chest and took out my short sword. With drawn steel in my hand, I went to the front door and opened it. Outside stood Milo, grinning as usual. At arm’s length, before my eyes, he held something dangling from a ribbon. It was an amulet in the form of a camel’s head.

I snatched it from him and turned it over. In the growing light of morning I read the words cut into the flat back side.





11


HEALING NICELY,” ASKLEPIODES said. “There is no inflammation, no suppuration. Avoid strenuous movement and it should be fully healed in a few days.” His slaves began to rebandage me.

“I may not have much choice about that last part,” I told him. “There is a great likelihood that I shall spend the rest of the day running or fighting.”

“Well, if it is a matter of preserving your life, do not worry too much about this cut. It will just mean a little more blood and pain.”

“I shall try to be Stoic.” I stood, feeling almost healthy. “The circumstances being what they are, I’ve decided not to wait until Saturnalia. Accept this with my thanks.” It was a caduceus a foot tall, made of silver and mounted on a base of alabaster. It was not the common one you see carried by Mercury in sculptures, with two serpents twining around the shaft, topped by a pair of wings. Rather it was the older one, the heavy staff wound by a single serpent associated with his namesake, Asklepios, the son of Apollo and god of healing. I had stopped by the quarter of the silversmiths on the way to the ludus in search of an appropriate gift and had fortuitously found this in an antique dealer’s shop.

“Why, this is splendid,” he said, and I could tell that his delight was genuine. “I shall have a shrine made for it. I do not know how to thank you.”

“A small recompense for the services you have rendered. If I should live through this, be assured that I shall call on you frequently.”